


And No More Shall We Hurt

by Lemon-Bar (Revenant)



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Hostage Situation, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-06
Updated: 2006-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revenant/pseuds/Lemon-Bar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the music isn't enough, and memories don't keep you warm at night. (This fic was strongly inspired by Frou Frou's <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5j5xMRPjDcw">Psychobabble</a>, and can be considered a song fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Memory of Justin Taylor

**Author's Note:**

> Art for this fic by : princesskirsty
> 
> **Read @[ LiveJournal ](http://britin-manor.livejournal.com/15283.html)**

“I’m actually in the middle of something right now.” The answer startled him, the tone made him frown. He shifted the phone to the other ear and looked up at the ceiling. “Hello?”

“Yeah, I heard. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I know how you are when you get into your work,” he answered.

“It’s fine. It’s just … you know. I wasn’t expecting your call.”

“How are you?” he blurted out.

“Fine. Look, I’m busy.”

“You’re back with him,” he said, he couldn’t keep the words in, couldn’t stop his accusations. His stomach burned at this new realization. He clenched his fist.

“Ethan.”

“He doesn’t deserve you!”

“I’m not talking about this with you.” The dial tone sounded final in his ears, but Ethan kept listening, kept waiting.

…………………

“The concert was brilliant!” Glenn said, he grinned broadly and clapped a hand on Ethan’s back. “As usual.”

“The second run was barely in tune,” Ethan said. “I was all over the place in the Mozart, and the fucking Dvorak was barely a tempo.” Glenn laughed, because at this point they had reached Ethan’s fans and since image was everything it was better that Ethan’s dark look be interpreted as the result of his high demands on himself. 

“Come mingle,” Glenn invited, gesturing to the many faces in the sea of black formal attire. Ethan gave a pained smile and stepped down the stairs slowly, his eyes scanning until he saw the blond in the corner. His smile turned genuine.

“I wish I’d known you were coming,” he said, pressing his face into the blond hair. The man turned, a questioning frown on his face but it turned to a wide smile when he saw Ethan. “Come on,” Ethan said, grabbing the man’s arm.

“Don’t you have to play the budding artist with your adoring public?” the blond asked.

“Tonight I’m celebrating,” Ethan said, kissing the full lips.

“What?” the man asked, slightly breathless.

“You.”

“This is the warmest welcome I’ve ever received,” the blond said, laughing as Ethan tugged him to the elevator. The reception was being held in a grand hotel and Ethan had a room at the top. “Usually it’s a quick suck or fuck after rehearsal.” The doors closed and they were alone. Ethan’s mouth was on the blond’s neck, his fingers working the buttons free on the man’s shirt. “Fuck, Ethan,” the man gasped.

“Don’t talk,” Ethan said before lowering his lips to the other man’s chest. 

They left the lights off once they reached the room; too eager to continue their enjoyable pursuits to separate and find the switch. Clothes made a path to the sofa and Ethan was quick to prepare the other man and slip firmly into his body. It was hot, and frantic and they were both gasping as they came. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” Ethan whispered against the other man’s neck.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” the blond said, panting still.

“I never meant to hurt you. I love you.”

“Ethan?” the blond asked, his brows creasing as he turned his head, tried to see the other man, but Ethan’s head was resting between his shoulder blades.

“I’m so sorry, Justin.”

“Justin?” the man asked, his body jerking. “Who the fuck is Justin?”

…………………

Ethan awoke with sunlight in his face and smiled at the memories, then winced as his rise to wakefulness made him aware of his splitting headache. He leaned up on his arms and glanced around. Somehow he had made it to bed, his clothes he could see making a line to the couch but there was no sign of whoever he had been with. A vague memory prickled and he groaned. He’d taken some E and snorted a bit of coke after the concert and had thought that Peter was Justin. 

He scoffed. There was no way that Peter -- desperate little viola in the orchestra, who gave head about as good as he played his instrument – which wasn’t well – could be anything like Justin. 

Idly, Ethan stretched a hand across the sheets and pressed his palm into the pillow that lay beside him. Justin’s side of the bed. His hand drifted beneath the pillow and withdrew the sheet of paper he had placed there. It was rumpled and the shading had faded, but it was still there. A sketch of he and Justin, together and happy. It made him ache. He traced his fingers of the curve of the familiar cheek.

_“I’m not antisocial. I just … don’t like people.”_

The memory drifted across his mind as if he was there again, in that time again, and he laughed, pressing his face into the other pillow. But it was just a pillow; it didn’t even hold Justin’s smell. It had been a long time since he had breathed that familiar scent, but even just the memory of it could still make him hard.

…………………

“I want you to stop calling, okay?”

“I don’t mean to freak you out. I just want to talk to you.”

“I have nothing else to say to you. I’ve moved on and I have no inclination to repeat the same mistakes. I don’t plan to look back.”

“We weren’t a mistake,” he said, his voice hard the anger choking him. Had Justin forgotten already? A year apart and already their time together had been cast out from memory? 

“Ethan. I’m done. That’s it. I’m happy now; I’m where I’m supposed to be. I want you to stop calling.”

“Are you worried he’ll find out about me?”

“He already knows,” came the wry response.

“You fucking told him?” Ethan said. For some reason his skin was crawling at the idea.

“I have nothing to hide. No reason to hide. Now I’m going to hang-up, and I want you to not call.”

“Can I see you?” Ethan asked.

“What?”

“Please, just one time.”

“You’re not making any sense.” The tone was frustrated, confused. 

“We ended so badly,” Ethan tried. “Can I just make it right? I just want to make it right. Just meet me, I just want to say that I’m sorry.”

“Sorry’s bullshit.” 

………………………

Wolfram was an old cat. Ethan should have been expecting it, but he hadn’t and there was nothing to ease his surprise when he found his cat dead on the floor of the hotel room. Wolfram had been everywhere with him, and in the end, he had been the only thing beyond Ethan’s violin that had never strayed from him. 

Ethan was off for the entire practice; he couldn’t get anything right, couldn’t play anything worthwhile. He left rehearsal and walked, not knowing where his feet would take him. More and more the violin case he carried felt like a burden, a lead weight on his back. It was all he had left besides his fame, besides the money. That didn’t matter though, it didn’t mean anything, and in the end neither did the music. 

He dropped onto a park bench and let his head sink into his hands. The sky was grey and low hanging; he’d learned to take special note of these things in his time before … Justin was always pointing out things like that. 

Justin.

Ethan rose from his seat and stuffed his hand in his pocket, feeling the leather of his wallet there. Suddenly there was no longer any question as to where he had to be.

…………………

Brian Kinney strolled with slow confidence towards the green vette, his hand in his pocket, undoubtedly reaching for his keys. He pulled his door open and paused for a moment as if waiting for something.

“Hey! Give me a lift?” Justin asked, stepping out of the building and adjusting the messenger bag he always carried.

“Hop in,” Brian said. Justin grinned and jogged to the passenger door.

……………………….

Justin attended PIFA and left early each day for classes. He took the bus, or sometimes Brian drove him. He stayed late sometimes, painting in his studio, working on a large canvas. When he did, his gaze was always focused, the small frown that was ever-present as he created was in place, though what he was creating was in its early stages and it was too difficult to determine what it was.

He visited a comic book shop, Red Cape Comics, and worked there sometimes as well. A familiar comic book -- Rage. Of course he still worked on it, and it was doing well. There was a large cardboard cut of Rage himself in the shop, his stance bold and defiant. His gaze mocking, and Justin sat at its feet and sketched.

………………………….

“I want to dance,” Justin said, laughing as he pulled out of Brian’s embrace. Brian smirked and watched Justin as he strode to the car. Justin, noticing the gaze, stopped and shimmied his ass. Brian laughed and shook his head, he slapped Justin’s jean-clad ass and kept moving. “You make it seem like going to Babylon is a chore,” Justin teased.

“Never a chore, Sunshine.”

“Exactly,” Justin said with a grin. He kissed Brian’s lips briefly and turned dramatically to cross to the passenger door.

…………………………

Justin danced as he always had done, the practice itself appearing to be a celebration of life, sex and sexuality. His entire aspect one of surrender. The innocent tempter. He drank shots at the bar, accepted a hit of E and raised his arms to the glitter that fell from the ceiling.

He took a trick to the backroom and fucked him slowly against the wall. The trick didn’t ask to hook-up again, but he watched Justin leave with a look of longing clear on his face. Justin left the backroom and immediately sought out Brian, pressing his body against the taller man, falling into an easy dance.

Again Justin went to the backroom, this time with Brian. He took Brian into his mouth and groaned so sweetly when the other man came down his throat. They left Babylon right after. 

Apparently a blowjob wasn’t enough.

…………………………..

Justin walked like he owned the city. He carried the same messenger bag with him everywhere and it always held art supplies. Justin got sidetracked sometimes and ended-up sketching when he’d originally set out on a quick errand.

He lived at the loft; he worked at the Diner and on the comic book. He wore the same black-and-powder blue scarf and P-coat, but sometimes he forgot his gloves. As he worked his shift at the diner, flirting and smiling at his customers, he stopped and stared out the front window for a good three minutes, a worried frown on his face as his eyes flicked back and forth scanning the street like he thought he had caught a glimpse of something he hoped hadn’t actually been there.

……………………………….

On Tuesday Justin and Brian stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of their building together. “Just look out for yourself, okay?” Brian said. He cupped the back of Justin’s head, his fingers in the shorter man’s hair. 

“It’s nothing. I’m probably just being neurotic, anyway,” Justin dismissed with faked confidence. Brian stroked the blond hair and then kissed Justin. “You know I will,” Justin said, as if the kiss had been a question, a plea. “Later,” Justin said with a grin and turned to head to the bus stop.

Brian watched him go, before he crossed the vette. He waited until Justin was on the bus before he started the car.

………………………….

Sometimes Justin went to Kinnetic. Brian’s place of business. Sometimes he just dropped by; sometimes he stayed for a long time. Sometimes he brought lunch with him, and sometimes he left without his scarf. Almost always, he looked more dishevelled when he left than when he went in, no matter how windy the day was.

………………………….

Justin took out the garbage at the Diner. He stretched his fingers like the weight of the bags had pained them and then shook his hand out before flipping the lid of the bin open and chucking the bags inside. As he tossed the last one in, a cat mewed and went racing out of the alley, chased by another cat. Justin jumped almost a foot and looked prepared to bolt. It took him a moment to catch his breath, and he leaned heavily against the side of the garbage bin. “It’s all in your head,” he muttered to himself, his fingers in his hair.

……………………………

The stairs were bare concrete and the walls the same, but the people in the building were friendly. The man, at least, had been more than happy to hold open the door for him when he called-out. He climbed to the top and knocked on the heavy door he found there. 

“Emmett?” he heard from inside the loft. There was the sound of movement, and then the door was unlocked and pulled aside. “You’re early I wasn’t expecting …” And those old familiar eyes met his. “Ethan?” he sounded stunned, looked more than surprised.

“Justin,” Ethan said. Justin frowned and Ethan pushed his way inside. “I missed you.”

“I want you to leave,” Justin said, his voice unsteady.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Justin said, he was quickly getting his bearings. “I told you to leave me alone.”

“What is it you’ve been working on?” Ethan asked when he noticed the image on the computer screen.

“Ethan,” Justin said. “Leave right now or I’m phoning the police.”

“You don’t need to be afraid.” Justin’s eyes flickered to his work out on the table; he’d always been protective of his art. With one hand he snatched the phone and he crossed the floor to turn off his computer and put away his work while he dialed. The phone was ringing and he leaned forward to turn-off the screen when Ethan wrapped his arms around him.

“Shhh,” he crooned in Justin’s ear. Justin’s thrashing was weak and his body quickly stilled. “Shhh, I love you. Don’t worry, there’s no reason to worry. I won’t ever hurt you. I love you.” He held the rag over Justin’s mouth and nose with one hand and grasped Justin’s body to his until they were sitting on the floor in the loft. 

“Hello?” a voice said. “Detective Horvath speaking. Hello?”

“Shh,” Ethan whispered to Justin, removing the rag and dropping it on the floor before gently tugging the phone out of Justin’s hand and turning it off.


	2. The Perfect Lie

**Day One:**

Justin woke on an unfamiliar bed, beneath a plain white ceiling with absolutely no idea how he had come to be there, except that it had something to do with Ethan. His head was aching and his body was weak, he couldn’t remember how to make his arms move.

“Hello,” Ethan greeted him with a warm smile, standing in the open door to the bedroom. “How do you feel?” Justin groaned, unable to form words, unable to completely focus. He felt drugged and wondered if that might be true. It wouldn’t surprise him. 

Ethan flashed a sympathetic look, then smiled again and disappeared. He returned carrying a tray and settled on the bed. Justin tried to convince his muscles to move but they weren’t quite listening to him. He looked at the tray and wanted to laugh somewhat hysterically when he realized that there was a red rose and a dozen pieces of dark chocolate.

“Open your mouth,” Ethan coaxed, picking up a single square piece. Justin squeezed his eyes tightly closed. He’d been fucked-up before and he’d still been able to kick-off Sap and make his way back to the loft. What the hell had Ethan done to him that was causing him to feel so completely out of it? “You need to eat something, you’ll feel better. Just one piece.” Ethan slipped the chocolate between his lips and Justin managed to weakly roll onto his side so his back was to Ethan and let the chocolate slip from his mouth onto the white sheets. “Get some rest, Beautiful,” Ethan whispered, his warm breath ghosting over Justin’s ear and down his neck. If Justin were more awake, he would have shivered, but he could only close his eyes tight.

……………………

“Does Justin have any enemies that you know of? Anyone who might try to do something like this?” Carl Horvath asked. He hadn’t connected the hang-up call he’d received earlier in the morning with anything significant until Brian had phoned to report what had happened. Horvath had managed through a lot of talking, to get a place on the case even if they were keeping an eye on him. He knew Justin after all; they didn’t need him getting emotionally involved.

“Chris Hobbes,” Jennifer Taylor hissed. She’d been pacing the loft since Brian had called her with the news. Their concerns were only affirmed when reports on the rag Brian had found on the floor had confirmed the substance on the rag to be chloroform. 

“Ethan Gold,” Brian muttered. He was sitting on the steps up to the bedroom, his head in his hands.

“Ethan?” Jennifer asked, clearly surprised by this.

“Who’s Ethan Gold?” Horvath asked.

“Justin’s old boyfriend,” Jennifer said waving one hand, her gaze still focussed on Brian. “You think Ethan did this?”

When Brian looked-up he was staring at Horvath. “He’s been phoning Justin. Justin thought he saw him on the street a few times.”

“Anything else? What sort of things was he saying?” Horvath asked, jotting something down on his pad.

“I don’t know,” Brian said. He looked towards the worktable where some of Justin’s prints had fallen onto the floor. He wondered if Justin had been working when Ethan had come. Carl had said there was no sign of forced entry – Justin had let Ethan into the loft. What had Ethan said to gain entry? Had he threatened Justin? Pleaded? Brian shook his head and pressed his fingers to his temple. Justin had tried hard to put Brian at ease by dismissing the repeated phone calls. Brian knew Justin had been more than unnerved by them. “He wanted to meet with him again.”

“Why?” Jennifer wondered.

“He said he wanted to say sorry,” Brian sneered.

**Day Two:**

Justin stopped shouting when his voice was hoarse. He’d managed to stumble out of the bed, though his head was cloudy and his body felt as if it were barely under his control. He’d tried the bedroom door, but it was locked. He’d kicked and pounded on the door, and then had turned his attentions to the rest of the room, pulling clothes off hangers in the closet, prying drawers from the night table, pushing the mattress off the bed after ripping the bedding off. He’d collapsed in a corner, with a blanket wrapped around him because he was suddenly exhausted and scared and he couldn’t stop his body from shivering.

“You need to drink,” Ethan said, ignoring the mess as he entered the room, leaving the door open behind him. He knelt down and held-out a glass of water. Justin was starving and thirsty. He hadn’t eaten the chocolate Ethan had brought the day before and that had been the only offering Ethan had made. The glass was cold against his hand and his mouth was dry. He drank greedily and then threw the glass against the wall, watching it shatter with a vague sense of satisfaction. “I’m trying to be patient,” Ethan said softly, raising his palm to cup Justin’s face. Justin swallowed convulsively and let his head fall back against the wall. After his outburst, he no longer had the energy to move. 

“Why did you bring me here?” Justin asked.

“You belong here.”

“You’re sick,” Justin said, it sounded disturbingly like a pained moan. He felt hot and cold, and wondered if he was about to throw-up on Ethan. The thought was satisfying, but his body wasn’t cooperating. “Let me go.” 

“You know I can’t do that,” Ethan said.

“Why not?” Justin said. “Let me go. I won’t press charges, I’ll forget this ever happened,” he lied. “Let me go.”

“You’d forget,” Ethan said, his tone indicating bitterness. “You forget things so easily, don’t you? But it’s okay. I’m going to help you remember,” Ethan said. Justin watched as Ethan leaned forward. The world seemed to be moving so slowly, he felt as if he had a thousand years before Ethan came anywhere near him. He twisted his body slightly, leaning on his left hip and tilted his head so Ethan could press their lips together. His eyes were open as Ethan kissed him, his breath shaky as he waited. A slight moan and Ethan’s tongue flirted across Justin’s lips. Justin opened his mouth at the same moment he kicked out with his right foot, shoving the man away from him.

Justin was up and out the bedroom door before Ethan registered the fact that he’d been pushed away onto his back. Frantic, Justin stumbled out of the short hallway and for the first time realized he was being held prisoner in a small apartment. He didn’t spare much thought for the scenery once his gaze locked-on to the front door, and he sprinted towards it, his whole body shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion as he slid into it, stopping himself with a palm against the wood of the door so that he didn’t completely slam into it. He reached for the knob and it didn’t budge. “Help!” Justin screamed. “Someone open the door!” he kicked and pounded. There was no sound, nothing to indicate that anyone could hear him. When his knees gave-out, Justin slid to the floor and rested his head against the unforgiving wood and tried to remember to breathe.

……………………

“Jesus Christ,” Debbie said. “You’re certain?”

Carl nodded his head. They had congregated at Debbie’s, in her living room, and everyone’s face was displaying some hint of the shock they were all feeling. He had noted that Brian held-back from the group, refusing to sit down. Jennifer hadn’t spoken, but Carl had watched her as she kept close to Brian. He wondered who was supporting whom. 

“He seemed like such a sweet kid,” Debbie said.

“They always do,” Ted muttered.

“Cut it the fuck out,” Michael shouted, shooting-up off the couch and glaring. He hadn’t believed Carl when he’d explained what was going on. It seemed as if it was finally sinking in. 

“This isn’t something to joke about,” Debbie said, her tone harsh. Ted spared a shame-filled glance towards Jennifer. 

“Do you think he’s going to be alright?” Emmett asked. He’d been crying, and his eyes were red-rimmed, his voice hoarse. Brian scoffed at the question.

“I don’t know,” Carl offered. “These kinds of things, it’s always hard to tell. It depends on what this Gold kid wants from Justin.”

“He wants him back, no doubt,” Michael muttered. Carl had figured the same thing, and if that was the case, it seemed pretty certain that even if they recovered Justin, he wasn’t going to be ‘fine’.

“We’re doing all we can,” he said, because it was true, even if it was inadequate.

…………………..

Justin gave-in to his grumbling stomach and ate the broth that had gone cold, idly tugging on the chain that connected him to the bed. He was feeling a bit clearer, though not by much. The door to the bedroom was open and every now and then he would catch a glimpse of Ethan moving around. 

As punishment for tearing the room apart, Ethan had taken all of Justin’s clothes from him, and removed the bedding as well. Most of the books and decorations had been removed. His escape attempt had been met with amused laughter and a chain on his ankle. Justin was a prisoner, and for some reason he couldn’t think straight. He wondered if he might be in shock. “Ethan,” Justin called. He’d been trying for the past several hours to coax the man back in. At least he could figure-out what was going on in his captor’s mind. So long as Ethan was talking, Justin would be receiving information, buying time. He was certain Brian was looking for him; it was only a matter of time before his lover found where he was. “Ethan!” But his captor continued to ignore him.

**Day 6:**

Brian could remember how he had felt that day in the parking garage, kneeling beside his bleeding lover and trying not to focus on the blood. For the longest time he’d looked back on that night and thought it was impossible to feel anymore helpless, anymore useless. As each minute ticked by in another hour of another day in which he could do nothing but sit and wait and fucking wonder, Brian thought he’d definitely been proven wrong.

At least on his knees in a growing pool of blood he’d had Justin. He could mutter and beg and plead and had the luxury of believing that maybe his lover could hear him and might obey his repeated commands that he be alright. There had been the cell phone in his hand and the authoritative voice of the woman who had taken his emergency call and dispatched help and insisted he stay on the line: “Sir, is he breathing? Can you feel his pulse?” There was something to do. 

And when the ambulance had come there had been a long list of allergies that he had recited dutifully, parroted to doctors and nurses once he arrived at the hospital, kept repeating because it was something, something that he could contribute, that might make things better, easier. The drive had been long and difficult, but he’d been there right beside Justin for the entire time. Had been able to count the minutes in his head when Justin’s heart stopped and he’d listened with sick relief when it started again.

Now there wasn’t anything. Was Justin still in Pittsburgh? Was he hurt? Was he frightened? Was he even alive? It terrified him when he’d stopped to talk to Carl and had heard people talking about the case – generally after a week they start looking for bodies. A week. One more day, and the police would concentrate their efforts on the morgue.

There wasn’t a single thing Brian could do, not a single thing he could say that might make anything different. He wracked his brain trying to remember something that Justin might have mentioned, something that might shed some light on where Ethan might have taken Justin. There was nothing. Two years since Justin had come back, and since that time they rarely recalled Ethan at all. When the phone calls had started, Justin had been just as surprised. Ethan didn’t even live in Pittsburgh, apparently.

Carl kept him posted. They’d spoken with Ethan’s landlord and apparently his rent was paid for several more months and the apartment was empty and neat except for a dead cat they’d found, and the landlord hadn’t been informed that Ethan was going anywhere. 

They’d spoken with Ethan’s manager and he’d been told only that Ethan was taking a break for a while. That he’d been very stressed and more moody than usual. That he spoke often of returning to Pittsburgh. That when police had shown a picture of Justin, Glenn had laughed and shaken his head and insisted he’d known from the start that the blond was trouble, but if Ethan had taken-up with him again, Glenn hadn’t seen any indication of it, and that was exactly what he’d insisted on, so all was well.

They’d questioned the orchestra, and a mousey little blond had cried at the sight of the photograph and said: “So that’s Justin.” And it had taken them an hour before they could get him to say anything that made sense – which wasn’t anything anyone hadn’t guessed already. Ethan was obsessed. 

“But you still don’t have a lead on where they might be?” was what Brian always asked. Carl would shake his head and offer some supportive words. On the sixth day, all Carl had done was grasp Brian’s shoulder. Brian wasn’t prepared to wonder at what that meant. Justin would be fine. The only problem was finding him.

……………………………..

Justin lay on the bed, naked and disoriented and starving. There was nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and think. He decided that you didn’t know yourself at all until you spent days on end with nothing but yourself and the sense of threat always hovering just at the edges of the mind, with barely and food and water. 

In the beginning, Justin had thought of Ethan as he had remembered him. He’d reasoned and fought and struggled, and yelled and teased and taunted based on his experiences with the dark-haired violinist. Based on those months they’d shared an apartment and a bed, based on those romantic words and late nights under the stars that only later Justin had recognized to be superficial. He’d torn the room apart, kicked and scratched and banged on the walls always thinking that Brian would be looking for him and would find him. That Ethan could be reasoned with.

By the second day Justin had been stripped down and locked in an empty room with no contact with anyone – not even Ethan, except for a few short minutes each day when the man would offer a few sips of water, or a morsel of food – never anything substantial, never enough to really feel full. And Justin started longing for those moments just because they broke-up the monotony of the day. 

It became very clear that Brian wasn’t going to be able to find him. Justin didn’t even know where he was. He could be in Canada for all he knew. The only way Justin was going to get free was if he freed himself. But more and more the strength was leaving him. He’d curl on the bed, shivering and trying always to get warm, feeling too hot and too cold and moaning and always feeling a terror at what was happening to him to make him feel as weak and sick as he did.

In the evenings Justin felt particularly disoriented, so detached from himself that his vision was white around the edges, and he would think that he heard someone singing to him, and stroking his hair with nimble fingers, and caressing his heated cheek. That morning, was it the fifth day? Of his imprisonment, Justin had woken in the arms of his once-lover, and hadn’t had the will to wriggle free. For all the harsh words he’d thrown at the violinist whenever he brought food, Justin hadn’t wanted Ethan to go.

…………………

At night, Brian dreamed terrible dreams of never finding Justin. Of Justin dead, or tortured. Of the bashing. Of that frightened, nervous form that he had held still so many times, had to coax outside – the lost boy that had barely resembled the pillar of strength Justin had always been.

When Brian was awake he worked long hours at Kinnetic, at the loft. He drank JB and made frequent calls to Horvath. He didn’t trick, he didn’t dance, he rarely went to the Diner, except when Debbie or Michael called and insisted. Sometimes he’d talk to Jennifer, but her shock at the suspected kidnapper being Ethan Gold had led the woman to blame herself, that she should have known when she’d met the boy that he was bad for her son. She felt guilty at the shock of delight she’d felt that he was young and friendly and not Brian. Brian blamed himself because he’d been the one to push Justin away, if he’d gotten over himself and accepted Justin from the start then Justin would have never known Ethan. It made for tedious phone conversations.

**Day Eight:**

Justin was resting his eyes when he heard the lock click. He felt Ethan’s fingers on his ankle, and could hear the other man moving before he felt warm breath against his neck and arms wrapped around him. 

“Hush,” Ethan soothed as he carefully picked Justin up. Justin was frozen with the realization that the arms felt good around him. No matter how superficial the sensation, Justin felt cared for. Memories of when they were together flashed through his mind, and Justin almost wished he could go back to those times – when Ethan was safe. When Ethan was the only steady point in Justin’s spinning universe where even Brian had been full of confusing contradictions. 

The difference was, Ethan wasn’t safe. Far from it. So Justin thrashed weakly and scraped his nails down Ethan’s neck. However much he struggled, the sum of his efforts was barely enough to make Ethan stumble. It became clear in a sudden burst. “What did you put in my food?” Justin mumbled weakly. “What are you giving me?”

“I’m giving you a bath, Precious,” Ethan said. “Just relax.”

“What did you do to me?” Justin said, ashamed that he was near tears. His emotions had been somersaulting since he’d first opened his eyes. “What did you do?”

“Shh,” Ethan soothed. “I’m just trying to help you, Justin.” 

Justin sat on the side of the tub and fought back tears of shame and frustration as Ethan ran the bathwater. He didn’t fight when Ethan shifted him into the tub, and barely struggled when Ethan began to wash him – slowly and meticulously. Fears kept circling through Justin’s mind. Why was Ethan suddenly concerned with his body? Why was Ethan spending more time with him? Where was Brian? Why was Ethan doing this? What had Ethan done to him? Why couldn’t he think straight? Why? Why? So many thoughts that Justin was immobilized, unable to struggle against Ethan’s touch. 

………………….

Brian thought he might be going crazy. He barely slept at night, and his nightmares haunted his waking hours. He went to work but couldn’t bring himself to care about any of it. None of it mattered, the only thing that did was out of his hands.

Brian was barely left to himself anymore. He’d confiscated the extra keys to the loft not long after Justin had returned to him following their time apart, but that didn’t mean that Debbie didn’t come over with pasta or macaroni, or that Michael didn’t call him, or that Emmett and Ted didn’t insist that they go out, go dancing. Brian humoured them as much as he could, compromising with Ted and Emmett by drinking a few rounds at Babylon, eating a few bites of Debbie’s latest concoction. Most of the time it felt as if he was somewhere else.

Daphne had shown him where Justin had once shared an apartment with Ethan, and even if Horvath had already explored the building thoroughly, Brian sometimes went there in his Jeep and tried to think. There had to be something. There had to be some kind of clue that he was overlooking, because the police weren’t finding anything and Brian refused to believe that this was it, that Justin was gone and they couldn’t find him. No matter how hard he tried, he could think of nothing.

 

**Day Nineteen:**

There were no days. There were no nights. He’d realized long ago – near the beginning of his captivity, that he was being drugged, that the drugs were in the water or the food, or both, or neither, depending on Ethan’s whim. He’d tried to avoid both, but that had ended poorly, with Justin sick and disoriented to a point that he simply hadn’t cared for anything and it had terrified him how willing he felt at that moment to give-up, that when Ethan came with a glass of water and begged, Justin had conceded. 

Every day Ethan woke Justin with a kiss and asked if he loved him. Justin had laughed, but it had become very clear that Ethan wanted to hear it. He wanted to know that Justin was his, that they were whatever Ethan had imagined they had been. Justin could see very clearly that he wasn’t prepared to die, and he wasn’t prepared to surrender to this captivity, but that if he remained in the apartment, he’d never have a chance to breakout. There were small windows near the ceiling but they were caked with mud, and the door was strongly locked and no one could hear his screams. There wasn’t much in the apartment to use as a weapon, no phone, no real way of escape. It was a lesson he seemed to be getting a number of times, like Kip, or his stint as a Go-Go boy. So Justin once again admitted there were some things you had to do.

The next day when Ethan asked, Justin had smiled sweetly. He’d said nothing, he wouldn’t lie, he refused to court Ethan’s fantasy to the point that he lost himself in it. It would have been different if Ethan had hit him. If Ethan had mistreated him openly or said things that made him angry, something, anything that could spark something within in. Ethan did none of those things, and the longer Justin stayed there, captive and yet not mistreated. The longer Ethan whispered in his ear, or touched his hair, the harder it was for Justin to remember that Ethan was insane, that he was keeping Justin hostage against his will, that he could just as easily try to kill him. 

………………………

Three leads and each of them had led them nowhere. Brian spent most of his time in his loft. He smoked weed sometimes, but he never drank. He wanted to be clear-headed. He needed to think.

Near the beginning, Horvath has kept his hopes up with thoughts of a phone call, of a possible ransom. Some contact with Ethan, anything that might be a clue. But Ethan had disappeared and they hadn’t heard nothing from him. Horvath was entertaining alternate possibilities. 

Justin’s smell had long since vanished from the loft. Brian spent hours staring at the prints on the table – he hand’t moved them. He’d hired a private detective, of course, but there was no further detail from her either. Justin was disappearing from everything, but Brian could still close his eyes and remember him – his smell, how it felt to run his fingers down that smooth back, his moans, his mischievous look, his pissy look. Every bit. The trouble came when he had to open them again.

 

**Day Twenty-Three:**

“Don’t put anything in my water today,” Justin said, draping his arms around Ethan’s neck and whispering in he other man’s ear. Ethan was quiet and sullen, more than he had been when they’d shared an apartment. His moods fluctuated, but Justin was skilled at walking the tightrope. To get free, Justin had to make Ethan believe that he was trustworthy. It was about slowly pushing for concessions – fewer hours spent incapacitated by the drugged haze, more freedom, little by little, until the locks came off the doors.

There was only so far Justin could take the illusion, and thus far his luck had held. “Why not?” Ethan asked. Justin kissed Ethan beneath his right ear.

“You know it makes me feel sick,” Justin said. 

“Hm,” Ethan sighed as Justin nuzzled his neck. “Can I trust you?”

“You know you can,” Justin said. Ethan tugged on Justin’s arm, pulling him so that they faced each other. 

For a long moment, Ethan simply stared deep into Justin’s eyes. “Are you lying to me?”

Justin’s memory flashed back to when he was seventeen and determined. He tried to be that now. “I would never do that.”

Another intense look broken when Ethan shot off the bed and paced swiftly back-and-forth across the room. Stopping to kick the empty nightstand where he paused, his back to Justin, his head bent. Justin could hear his heavy breaths and wondered what the outcome of this attempt could be. It might earn him a few more hours of relative clear-headedness. Then Ethan paced back to the bed and yanked Justin forward, hard, so that their chests pressed together. Justin tensed, ready for an attack, and it came in the form of a biting kiss that forced his lips apart.

He felt the exchange, wondered what the tablet was and tried to jerk away and spit it out. He jerked in Ethan’s grip, but the brown-haired man lunged forward, pushing him flat on the bed, a hand across Justin’s mouth and plugging his nose so he couldn’t breath and couldn’t spit the pill out. Even thrashing as he was, Justin couldn’t dislodge Ethan, who was exploiting his better leverage and staring mercilessly into Justin’s eyes. “I’m trying to help you remember,” Ethan kept insisting. “You love me. You love me.” And Justin blinked, surprised to feel the tears running down his temples. He swallowed convulsively and Ethan pulled his hand back, moving instead to stroke Justin’s hair as Justin sobbed. “It’s okay, it won’t hurt you.” Which was a lie, Justin felt increasingly weak each time Ethan slipped something into his food or his water. Whatever Ethan was using it was wearing him down. “I’m being careful because I love you. I love you and I’m taking care of you.”

Ethan tried to kiss his cheek but Justin turned his head into the bare mattress. He’d gambled and he’d lost. Now he was helpless again. Already his vision was going white around the edges. He couldn’t stop sobbing and it was becoming difficult to breathe. Desperate, Justin curled in on himself, and wished it could be over.

…………………..

Ethan stepped back from the bed, still apologizing. Justin would forgive him; he’d understand when he was better. With a sense of resolve Ethan turned on his heel and went to the drawer of the cabinet, he picked-up the video recorder. It had to be done. He was looking after Justin, and this was just another thing that had to be done. He checked the battery and turned back towards the bedroom. It would be all right. Justin loved him, after all.

…………………..

**Day Twenty-Five:**

It was sitting in a brown manila envelope by his door when he returned from work. Brian had a mailbox that his friends were all familiar with, and larger packages were left with his landlord. He saw it as soon as he stepped off the elevator and his sent a chill through him. For a while, he only stood there and stared. There were numerable possibilities, but somehow he knew exactly what it was.

He picked it up carefully and entered the loft, setting it on the counter and eyeing it with trepidation as he changed. No amount of avoidance would appease his growing fear of what was in the package, and the more he tried to keep away from the counter, the worse his imaginings became. Carefully, Brian opened the envelope, and stared at the innocent looking cassette it revealed.

The phone call to Carl was relatively simple. Brian demanded the man come and pick-up the tape, maybe there were fingerprints on the envelope that might be useful in making a conviction stick when Justin was found, and then Ethan could rot in prison. Maybe there was something on the tape itself.

“Don’t watch it by yourself,” Carl said, but Brian was already hanging up. He took the cassette to his TV and with a bracing breath, inserted it into the player.

“Kinney,” Ethan greeted him after a moment of black-screen. His face was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked as unkempt as he always had, Brian couldn’t contain his snarl as he watched the fiddle-fuck smile. “Lose something?” he taunted. 

“Fuck,” Brian breathed in a whisper. “Fuck.” He looked at the scenery behind Ethan. A sitting room, nothing special. The walls were plain white and there wasn’t a lot of furniture. There was no sign of Justin.

“I want to make something absolutely clear between us,” Ethan continued. “Justin’s mine. He loves me. He doesn’t remember you, and that’s for the best.” Brian watched Ethan’s expression darken, surprised at how threatening the man could look. Brian could recall a time when he had dismissed him as a spoiled and conceited piss-ant. Harmless. 

“All those times, Kinney, that you fucked with his mind. And he went back to you. I don’t blame him, I screwed up and it was hard for him. I should have known you’d be sniffing around him again. But that’s the last time you fuck with him. All those times, Kinney … all those times I’d sit there and lend an ear while he railed and cursed you. The things he said … he doesn’t love you.” Brian knew Justin well enough to know he’d never railed or yelled. Knowing his lover as he did, Brian was almost certain that, even if he were feeling it, he hadn’t said a word about Brian to Ethan if it could be avoided. 

“I’m the one now, Kinney. I’m the one who holds him after his nightmares. I’m the one.” And if Justin’s nightmares were back that was a definite sign of the blond’s state of mind. Brian felt a wave of helplessness flood him and he sunk down in it. “You’re nothing,” Ethan was insisting. “Nothing but a bad dream. … And I can prove it.”

Ethan stepped towards the camera then disappeared. A moment later the camera started moving, through a door into a bedroom that looked barren. Brian focussed immediately on the familiar figure on the bed, curled into a small ball and shivering.

Justin was curled up, naked and shaking on a bare mattress. “Oh fuck,” Brian said, not even aware he’d made a sound. “Fuck. Jesus. Justin.” 

Ethan brought the camera close so Brian could see the dampness of his lover’s cheeks and the streaks that proved that Justin had been crying. Justin had visibly lost weight. He was pale, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Brian couldn’t help but notice that those familiar blue eyes were glazed. “Hn?” Justin moaned, sounding a little delirious, as Ethan shook him.

“Say hello to the Asshole, Love.” Brian watched as Justin leaned into Ethan’s touch, feeling his heart clench. “I told you, Kinney, it’s me now. It’s always been me he wants.”

“What are you doing?” Justin asked, looking confused.

“Shh, Baby. Don’t worry,” Ethan said. The camera shook and blurred and then settled again. The vantage point had changed; no doubt Ethan had set the camera on a bureau. Now Brian could see the bare mattress and the almost-empty room. He noticed the cold metal cuff around Justin’s ankle and the bruising that peaked out – Justin had clearly been struggling with the chain. He could see Ethan, too, as the man climbed on the bed beside Justin and began kissing him.

He knotted his fingers in his hair and clenched his jaw, watching as Justin weakly pushed at Ethan’s chest as the other man pressed down, devouring Justin with the kiss. He listened as Justin whimpered for Ethan to stop. And he cursed as Ethan jerked his lover off while Justin feebly protested, clearly weak and delirious, and all the while Ethan spat vicious words at him, his glare focussed on the camera.

Justin wasn’t crying. His head lolled back and his glazed eyes seemed to roam, not taking anything in, which almost seemed worse. Brian wondered if Ethan had raped him, and was sick to realize that, as this video demonstrated, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. He’d known it before, of course, but now he had visual proof of the possibility. It was terrifying. 

Then Justin came, but his face wasn’t one of pleasure. It was a confused wince, and he seemed to blink out of his daze, looking around as if expecting to see someone. He seemed oblivious of Ethan, who was lying beside him. “Brian?” Justin asked, and the voice haunted Brian in the way that the sound of the bat still haunted him. Justin sounded lost and frightened, and confused, like he couldn’t understand why his lover wasn’t there. The moment was broken with a sharp smack, and Justin’s stunned face as Ethan knelt above him, his face dark and furious, and then Ethan rolled from the bed.

The recording went black.


	3. Hold My Heart In Two

**Day Twenty-Seven:**

Justin hit the water with a splash and the cold-shock of it jolted him out of the daze enough that his arms and legs flailed. It was only the bathtub he wasn’t drowning, but suddenly he felt absolutely frozen, couldn’t stop the shaking. 

“Christ, you’re a wreck,” Ethan muttered. Justin couldn’t say anything. Since that day Ethan had touched him, Justin hadn’t had any clear moments, and the daze he’d been occupying had been getting increasingly worse. Sometimes Justin found it hard to be coherent.

“Cold,” he said, as his teeth chattered. He wondered if that made a difference to Ethan. Gone was the pretence Justin had attempted, of getting on Ethan’s good side, of trying to earn more freedom until he could find a way to breakout.

“Here,” Ethan said, pulling a thick towel down from a shelf and wrapped it around Justin’s shoulders, pulling the plug on the tub. Justin watched the water drain slowly, watched the edges of his warm towel get wet as they dropped around him. “Get up,” Ethan said, like it should be obvious to Justin. It probably should have been. 

Justin stumbled out of the tub, held the towel close to his body, but still couldn’t stop his shaking. “I’m sick,” Justin said. 

“You’re not sick,” Ethan snarled, grabbing another towel and ushering Justin back to the bedroom where he began to vigorously rub Justin’s body with the other towel. Justin didn’t feel any warmer, but it made his skin feel raw.

“I’m sick,” Justin said to himself. He lay back down on the bed.

“You’re not fucking sick!” Justin blinked slowly, watched as the colour drained from his vision, and surrendered again to the darkness.

……………………

“We have a lead,” Horvath said.

“What?” Brian asked.

“Gold’s grandfather had some sort of house on the outskirts of the city. It’s been boarded up because the grandfather doesn’t live in Pittsburgh.”

Brian took a long breath. He was almost afraid of the flicker of hope that lanced through him. “When are you going?”

“Tomorrow,” Horvath said. “We’re working on getting a warrant.”

“I’m coming with you,” Brian said.

“Brian,” Horvath said. “I’ve kept you pretty involved, and I know how you feel about this, but …”

“I’m coming!” Brian said.

“Provided you do exactly what I tell you to do, and keep out of the damned way,” Horvath compromised.

“Fine.”

…………………………

Justin couldn’t stop shivering. He was almost grateful for Ethan who was lying close to him, his arms rubbing up and down Justin’s side and generating a bit of warmth. “Tell me you love me,” Ethan insisted. Justin closed his eyes and wished that he were anywhere else. “Tell me you love me.” 

Justin might have railed, and kicked and thrashed; he might have scoffed or screamed or taunted, he might have done any number of things, but now he was cold and he was tired. “I can’t.”

“Tell me you love,” Ethan insisted.

“No,” Justin said.

“Tell me,” Ethan insisted. “I know you loved me, Justin. Tell me.” 

“No.” Justin sobbed. Shivering, sick and half-out of his mind, clinging to a man who had made the passed weeks a living hell, and remembering a time when he’d actually welcomed the feel of these arms. “No, I never loved you -- But I wanted to.”

 

**Day Twenty-Eight:**

It was a twenty-six minute drive, and Brian counted every second of it. He’d woken early that morning absolutely determined that he’d be returning with Justin. The truth was it was no different from several other mornings before when Horvath had come to him, sharing news of a possible lead. The first time, he’d told Jennifer, and she’ packed a supply kit, not sure what Justin might need. She’d packed clothes and food and a blanket, and even an old stuffed animal. She’d ridden in silence beside Brian, clutching the bag to her chest all the while. They’d driven back in silence as well, both trying to swallow-back the fear and disappointment.

This time, Brian dressed quietly and told no one. He was ready when Horvath phoned, and followed the squad car until they were pulling into a winding drive, up to a small, squat house with boarded windows.

……………………..

The sound of car doors closing welcomed Justin into wakefulness, and he wished he could have stayed asleep long enough to dream of Brian coming and rescuing him. He sighed his disappointment, and then frowned as his body was once again wracked with shivers. He’d gotten a bit better after Ethan had brought the thick, grey-wool blanket back and draped him in it, but he still felt spacey. Closing his eyes, Justin tried to drift back to sleep and imagined he could hear voices.

Ethan’s body stiffened beside him, but Justin ignored it, just like he ignored it when the brunette stumbled out of the bed, muttering and cursing. He couldn’t ignore it when Ethan rushed back into the room and started shaking him, his frantic words blurring and Justin could barely understand what Ethan was saying.

……………………..

Horvath’s partner, Peter, called him back from the door and gestured towards another building. “Pool house,” Peter said. Both the main house and the pool house were boarded up, and the pool itself was empty, filled with rotting leaves and muddy puddles.

“Are you going to check inside?” Brian asked.

“Get back in the car,” Horvath ordered.

“I’m not sitting in the fucking car,” Brian said.

“Hey, Carl,” Peter called.

“Wait here,” Horvath ordered. Brian glowered but obeyed.

“Those tire tracks to the garage,” Peter said, gesturing his head back to the garage. “And these right here,” he said, tapping his foot on the ground where the distinct image of a footprint was left in the hardened earth. “I think we should get some back-up out here, and keep your friend in the fucking car.” 

Horvath nodded and headed back to the car. “What did you find?” Brian asked.

“Brian,” Horvath said, stopping for a moment. “I won’t say I know what you’re going through, because frankly I don’t. I can say I have an idea, because you aren’t the first person I’ve dealt with who’s lost a loved-one. I’m doing my best, here, to find Justin. You need to understand that there are procedures that have to be followed to keep everyone safe. If something happens and you get in the way, we’ll be focussing on you, when we should be focussing on Gold, and on Justin. So when I say wait by the car, I mean it.”

Brian nodded, and seemed a little bit stunned, so Horvath softened. “We think Gold’s in there. Or at least, had been in there. I’m radioing in for back-up.” 

…………………….

“You can barely see through the fucking windows!” Ethan hissed, trying to rub a hand against the small window near the ceiling. “Come on.” Justin pulled the blanket closer around himself and followed only because Ethan had a grasp on his arm. “We need to get upstairs.”

Justin didn’t know why they had to do that. He was perfectly happy to curl-up on the bed again. He felt vaguely nauseous when they moved around too much, and Ethan’s movements were erratic. 

“Take this,” Ethan said, holding out a flashlight. Justin stared at it, and Ethan cursed at him and slammed it down on the table, before he got on his knees and fiddled with the air vent, removing the covering grate. Justin flinched back when Ethan pulled out a revolver. “No, hush, shh, shh,” Ethan soothed, tucking the gun in his back pocket. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would never ever hurt you. You believe me, don’t you?” Justin swallowed reflexively, his eyes already skirting away, distracted by something else. 

“We have to go.” Ethan grasped Justin’s hand, which was fisted around part of the blanket covering his naked body, and they left the side room and headed out towards the living room. They reached it just as there was a loud thump and the room filled with police officers.

“Freeze!” one of the officers ordered. 

Justin barely had time to process it. The room was filling with police, and he pressed his body into the corner as Ethan stepped forward his arms up, stationed himself to block Justin’s body, moving forward and talking, his words not making any sense to Justin’s scrambled thoughts. All he knew was that his breath was coming faster, and the number of people in such a small space was making him nauseous. People were yelling, and they were holding guns.

And then the next moment there were gunshots, and Justin screamed, and watched as Ethan’s body dropped onto the rug, blood seeping out into the blue carpet, and some of it spraying onto Justin – dotting his face and his blanket. “Ethan?” Justin whispered. There was a moment, and then the police started holstering their weapons, and one of them moved towards Justin.

“It’s okay, Kid,” he said. Justin blinked, staring down at Ethan’s sprawled form. Why wasn’t he getting up? “Hey, you okay?” A hand touched his arm, and Justin flinched back, still staring at Ethan’s body.

“Justin? It’s okay, Son” said a familiar voice, but the memory was vague. A body stepped in front of him, blocked his vision of Ethan. “Justin? Let’s get you out of here.” Justin tried to crane his neck to see Ethan again, but the man kept his body blocking his view, and finally Justin was ushered up a set of stairs and out into a cold grey day. There were flashing lights, and people were moving around hastily. Justin tucked himself a bit closer to the man who was walking him slowly passed a pool without water.

And then there was Brian.

Justin stopped walking and wouldn’t take another step. “Justin? It’s okay,” the man was saying, but Justin’s world was a glaze of blurred images with the only solid thing in his sight being the familiar lithe form of Brian, who was standing several feet in front of him, but might as well have been a world away. Somehow, he wasn’t real. Justin stared into warm hazel that gazed back at him, and the relief he felt at the complete difference between these hazel eyes, and the threatening chocolate brown that had been watching Justin for so long made Brian’s image all the more an allusion. 

Dazed, Justin kept still as the dream paced forward with steady steps, and reached for him, embraced him cautiously and pulled him close. There was a moment where he tensed, not ready for the dream to disappear – which was inevitable as soon as they made contact – but then his body was pressed against a warm chest, with a solid thump-thumping pulse beneath his ear. And it was real. Justin tucked his arms to his body and pressed closer in Brian’s arms, allowing his eyes to drift shut. He held himself still and just believed. 

Brian didn’t say anything, but there was warm breath in Justin’s ear, and the feel of hands in his hair and on his back. For the first time in a long time, Justin began to feel warm again. “Justin,” Brian said, and Justin realized it really was Brian touching him. That he was standing outside, in his lover’s arms. “Justin,” Brian said again, and Justin twisted his fingers just enough so he could grab onto Brian’s shirt, and he tucked his head under Brian’s chin, and didn’t move.

……………………….

“Get a medic over here,” Horvath said. He was loath to break-up the embrace, but Taylor had looked incredibly shaky. There was no telling what exactly had happened in the twenty-eight days he’d spent with Gold.

“Where’s Gold?” asked Peter, who’d stayed out to make sure the ambulance got in okay, and that Brian didn’t make any rash decisions.

“Dead,” Horvath said. They were silent, watching as the paramedics convinced a dazed Justin to follow them to the ambulance.

“He hurt?” Peter asked.

“Don’t know,” Horvath said. He followed after Brian towards the ambulance, where Justin was being settled onto a stretcher. 

“We’re going to go to Allegheny,” Brian said.

“I’ll have someone look after the Jeep,” Carl offered. Brian looked a bit surprised, like he forgot he’d driven-out there, but after a moment, he handed over the keys. “Is he okay?”

“They think he’s been given something, they’re not sure what’s going on,” Brian said.

“We’re ready,” one of the paramedics said, and Brian turned without another word and climbed in the back. “We’re taking him to Allegheny.”

“Sure,” Carl said. He watched the ambulance pull out of the driveway and speed away.

………………………..

Jennifer Taylor tried to walk calmly through the halls of Allegheny General Hospital but found herself moving into a brisk walk, then to a jog. She’d been worrying about her son since Brian had called and told her Justin was missing, and all of this bore too much resemblance to the night of the prom. A similarity that was made all the clearer when she rounded the corner to find Brian sitting slumped in a chair in the middle of an empty hallway. Suddenly her pace was brought to a halt, and it was difficult to move forward.

“Brian?” she asked. He looked up at her, dazed.

“They’re keeping him for a few days. There were traces of Tylenol and other things in his system and they need to keep him under observation while it clears-out,” Brian said. “It wore his system down. He’s a bit spacey.”

“How was he?” she asked, and he knew she didn’t mean his health.

“Like I said, between the toxins in his system and the shock, he was … like another person.” She could tell by his look that this was something he’d been considering and fearing for some time. Jennifer remembered the months following the bashing where Justin’s moods fluctuated and he flinched from people and threw things.

“Can we go see him?”

“Visiting hours are over, but I’m sure the doctor will let you in,” Brian said, already turning away, focussing back on the wall across from where he was sitting.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I’m going to stay here,” he said.

“You don’t think I’m going to let you do this again, are you?” Jennifer asked. There had been a time when she’d wanted nothing more than to sever all contact between Justin and this man. Now things had changed. As hard as it had been in the beginning, and even in that time when she had given Justin into Brian’s care following the bashing, she had seen how different Justin had been when he and the older man had gotten together again following Ethan. Justin wasn’t the same as he had been prior to the bashing but he’d been so vibrant and happy again, and she had enough sense to know that a good part of that was a result of Brian. “Come on,” she said, raising an expectant eyebrow and waiting until he stood and followed her.

…………………………

The tray of hospital food sat untouched on Justin’s bedside table as the blond sat-up in bed watching a soap opera. Brian paused in the door and watched quietly. Justin didn’t flinch from people, but he watched them closely with an untrusting eye. He spoke and teased, but Brian knew his lover enough to know that Justin was rarely entirely honest with others about how he was feeling. Debbie had descended on the hospital the next morning, and Justin had laughed the entire experience off and spent a solid hour soothing Debbie’s frazzled nerves, as well as his mother’s, and the two women had left to start the day much relieved. Brian was not at all convinced.

Justin turned his head from the television and smiled at Brian. “I brought Tai,” Brian said, holding-up the white plastic bag. He stepped forward, offering a bottle of water to the blond and setting the bag on the bed so he could remove the plastic cutlery and Styrofoam container. In context, the distrusting way Justin looked at his meal-trays made sense. How else was Ethan drugging Justin than slipping the drugs into Justin’s food and drink. Justin had been taken-off intravenous, however, and had to eat something. When Brian started bringing take-out, neither of them said anything, but Brian noted that Justin stopped making an issue out of eating. 

“What the fuck are you watching?” he asked as he sat on the bed in the space Justin had made for him.

“It was this or some kid’s cartoon, and the animation was crap, so” Justin shrugged and flipped open the lid on his Tai, munching on it as he settled against Brian’s side and watched the show. Brian was silent, watching Justin more than he was watching the show, but attempting not to be obvious. Justin, for his part, seemed entirely focused on the show, eating his food idly, his gaze rarely leaving the screen.

On a commercial-break, Justin closed-up his container and set it aside, drinking some of his water before settling back against Brian. “Did you get that new account?”

“Of course,” Brian said with a smirk. He usually dropped-by the hospital earlier but had been kept late, finishing left-over paperwork, that he’d shoved aside as he’d focused on Justin’s kidnapping. In addition, he’d had a meeting with a growing Jewellery store that had the potential to become very successful. “Justin…” Brian said, bracing himself to finally address what they’d been attempting to avoid since he’d been found.

“Shh,” Justin said, turning back to the TV as the show started again. Brian rolled his eyes.

“Why are you watching this shit? These people are more fucked-up than …” it dawned on him what part of the attraction might be, and he settled back, dropping an arm casually around Justin’s waist after pulling out some papers from his briefcase. He’s come straight from Kinnetic and there was still work he could accomplish. 

He was only half-listening as a busty-brunette wrapped her arms around a broad-shouldered man’s legs and pleaded with him to show her he cared. _“Don’t make me say it,”_ the man said, sounding far more tortured than he likely had a right to be. Brian idly made notes regarding an ad, and Justin twisted so he could place a kiss on Brian’s neck. Brian finished his notes and looked down where Justin had settled on his chest, but the blond had his eyes closed and was drifting towards sleep. 

“They need a fucking remote for this thing,” Brian muttered as he glared at the TV, but Justin looked settled, and it seemed like more effort than it was worth, so he did his best to ignore the soap.

 _“I’m pregnant with his child!”_ another woman was announcing.

 _“He’s your father!”_

_“He’s my step-father!”_

_“Well, I’m having Bertrand’s baby!”_

_“But he’s my fiancé! Mother, how could you?”_

Brian snorted, the action making Justin’s head bounce slightly. He shifted his hand to wrap idly in blond hair and turned back to his notes.

……………………..

Debbie had her head in the fridge, but Justin could still hear her muttering as she shoved saran-wrapped dishes and Tupperware around in the fridge. He smiled to himself, the fleeting thought passing of a time she had held her hands to her chest and grinned just to see him standing there on the landing. As if it really had been all she’d been hoping for. Justin didn’t appreciate the way his mind had turned. He was doing all he could to convince everyone that the entire Ethan-debacle was nothing.

A part of him thought darkly of those days following the bashing where he’d needed someone to talk to, to really hear where his thoughts were and help him sort himself out. There had been no one. He couldn’t talk to Debbie, because she’d sat by her brother’s bed while he struggled to live. Both she and Vic knew all about suffering, and he felt somewhat shallow to vent to them. The only other person who had truly been an option had been Brian, but the man had been full of advice that essentially boiled-down to ‘put it all behind you and forget about it’. Justin knew Brian was dealing with the bashing as well, but he hadn’t been the one with a bat to the head and no memory as to why suddenly the thought of his own mother hugging him terrified him. Brian’s approach to healing consisted of ‘forgetting about it’ – which was the last thing Justin needed. He needed to remember it. He needed to get so damned close to the thing so he could remember it in painstaking detail and maybe, possibly, understand it. And ‘becoming a fat fucking successes’, though helpful advice, didn’t leave room for the absolute chaos Justin felt inside. It didn’t address his rage and horror that this could happen and be considered okay. After all, Chris had gotten off.

So really, twenty-eight drugged-up days of sharing an apartment with an ex-lover was ridiculous. Nothing at all. Except Justin couldn’t get Ethan out of his head. Memories of days spent willing himself to love the exotic violinist because it would make things simpler. And in the end, it had resulted with Ethan’s crumpled body lying in a pool of blood. Justin wanted to blame Ethan, knew it was the other man who initiated all of this, even if he’d been a little bit crazy. Somehow, the idea that if Justin had just accepted Brian in the beginning and not wanted more, or if he’d done something differently with Ethan – all of this could have been avoided.

“Sunshine!” Debbie said, rising from out of the fridge and grinning. She hurried over and pulled him into a tight embrace that he savoured for a moment. She kissed his cheek and rubbed the lipstick away before she held him back, still gripping his shoulders as if inspecting him. “I wanted to have a family dinner, but this Asshole,” she wagged a red-painted fingernail in Brian’s direction. “Insisted that he wouldn’t hear of it. Need your beauty rest?” she asked, hands on her hops and glaring at Brian.

“Some of us have to woo Diesel Williams and his multi-million dollar baby tomorrow,” Brian retorted.

“Hm, sounds kinky,” Debbie said. Brian rolled his eyes and headed up to the bedroom, tossing the bag that had the things Justin had been using at the hospital in it onto the bed. Justin watched Brian begin unpacking the bag with a frown.

“Actually, Deb. It’s me. I just wanted to come back and sleep,” he said.

“Are you okay, Sweetie?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” Justin said. “It’s just, the hospital wasn’t exactly the most comfortable place to sleep.” She gave him a look that dangerously bordered on pity. As if she was thinking back on a different time and could completely understand why Justin might not be comfortable in a hospital. Justin wanted to scream. It had nothing to do with those endless, boring hours he’d spent before, recovering from the bat to the head. Hospitals were noisy and busy and boring, and the beds were uncomfortable.

“You get some rest, Sunshine,” Debbie said, and patted his cheek. Justin winced a smile and tried to look pleasant until the door slid shut. Then he let out a relieved breath and sagged. 

“Why’d you say that?” Brian asked, stepped down from the bedroom. He’d gotten changed and looked deliciously casual. Actually, Justin thought idly, Brian had a tendency to look delicious no matter what he wore.

“It’s the truth,” Justin said with a shrug. Brian looked at him closely, and finally Justin gave-up. “I’m going to have a quick shower.” He tried to walk slowly so Brian might take the hint, but Brian merely nodded and went to the computer to finish-up some work. Everyone was waiting for him to react to what had happened and they couldn’t understand that it hadn’t been much of anything.

…………………

Brian kissed Justin’s temple and set the alarm clock on the dresser. When it had rung that morning, Justin had barely woken, and since there was nothing the blond needed to do that day, Brian saw no reason to wake him. He fixed his tie and grabbed his briefcase.

Kinnetic kept him busy with papers to sign, a presentation, a phone conference, and several ads to design, and by the time he was re-entering the loft he was tense and cranky. Sometimes, even weeks later, a sudden fear would seize him that Justin wouldn’t be at the loft when he returned. That his lover was still missing. It was usually assuaged by a phone call, or that moment when he walked in and saw those tell-tale sings that Justin was exactly where he belonged. 

Tossing his briefcase on the desk, Brian worked the knot on his tie free and headed-up for a shower, wondering where Justin was. A mystery that was solved when he found the blond in the bed – exactly where he’d left him. For a moment, Brian frowned at his sleeping lover, and then decided that he wasn’t going to make a big thing about it. There were signs that Justin had moved about, at least. After changing, Brian left the bedroom and paused by the coffee table where the sketchbook Brian had brought to the hospital was resting. Curious, Brian flipped it open. There were five old sketches that had been there prior to Justin’s disappearance, and nothing new had been added to it. 

He closed the sketchbook and headed towards the phone, intending to place an order for some food. The best thing, he supposed, was to give Justin some time. Brian had heard enough placations and dismissals of what had happened when Justin had been taken. Justin had done his best to keep the details to himself, insisting he give his give his written testimony with only the police present. He seemed determined to deal with everyone’s reaction to what had happened except his own. There was a time when that was acceptable to Brian, but things had changed since Justin had left willingly and Brian wasn’t prepared to repeat mistakes they’d made.

………………..

Justin woke to the smell of pizza and tried not to draw attention to the fact that Brian had ordered it willingly, without requiring bribery and distraction, an was eating it willingly as well. He decided to ignore, also, that there was no fuss made when he snatched-up the box and settled down on the couch in front of ‘Yellow Submarine’, or that Brian didn’t protest when he stealth-cuddled. Justin had learned that Brian had nothing against cuddling, so long as you progressed gradually and as if by accident.

Justin thought it was perfectly clear what he wanted. But flat on his back on the couch, with Justin grinding against him and kissing his neck idly, Brian seemed a bit confused. “What are you doing?”

Justin frowned and pulled back. “Have I been gone that long?” he joked, rather flatly. They stared at each other, and Justin huffed in frustration, climbing off the couch, and consequently, off Brian, and headed back into the bedroom. He was aware that Brian had shifted to sit on the couch, watching him as he moved, but Justin wasn’t going to be distracted.

“Going out?” Brian asked casually, as Justin pulled a black sleeveless shirt over his head. Justin rolled his eyes and reached for a pair of shoes.

“Why, are you gonna join me?”

“Justin,” Brian said, then changed his tone, sensing that Justin was not in the mood for a lecture. “To Babylon?”

“To anywhere that isn’t full of people expecting me to fly apart at any moment. How many times do I have to say that I’m fine before you’ll believe me?” 

“I believe you,” Brian said.

“Bull shit,” Justin shot back, having crammed his feet into his shoes he stomped down from the bedroom and stood threateningly on the bottom step. “Since when do you turn down a fuck?”

“Since when do you turn down a chance to sketch?” Brian retorted. Justin’s posture stiffened and his glare intensified. “If you’re fine, that’s great, be fine,” Brian said. “But don’t give me this bullshit and expect me not to see it for what it is.” He was off the couch, grasping the sketchpad in his hand and holding it up as the damning proof that it was. “How long’s it been?” Brian asked, but they both knew. Almost three weeks, and some of those days were spent in a boring hospital room with very little to amuse him. Brian had brought a sketchbook and pencils and everything Justin might need, and Justin had turned on the TV and watched soap operas.

“Fuck you,” Justin said.

“If you want to go that route,” Brian said with a shrug.

“It’s your own damned coping mechanism!”

“What are you afraid of?” Brian asked. 

“Shut up, Brian. You don’t know anything!”

“What, Justin? What is it?”

“He was fucking crazy!” Justin screamed. “He was crazy! How the fuck did I not see it? How long was I with him before? And we lived together! Jesus, Brian. How could I have sat there like a stupid fuck and not noticed he was crazy!”

“He wasn’t crazy then,” Brian reasoned, hating that he had to explain this, but knowing that it was needed, just the same.

“I couldn’t do anything,” Justin said, his tone different, soft and breathless and a little dazed. “I could barely think, I couldn’t control myself.”

“You were drugged. He was purposely wearing your system down so you couldn’t fight,” Brian reasoned.

“And out of all of this,” Justin continued, Brian wondered if he’d even heard what Brian had said. “Is that I –“ Justin stopped and looked stricken, then turned wide, lost eyes to Brian. The expression filled Brian with dismay and he stepped forward. “I – fuck – they shot him – they shot him and he was – and I –“ Justin was gasping, and freaking out. The only thing Brian could think of to do was to pull Justin close so he wouldn’t fly into a million pieces, and that’s what he did, and Justin clung tight. “I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” Brian said, with simple confidence.

“Jesus,” Justin said, clinging harder. There were days, several years ago, when Brian would walk through the door and find Justin like this. Days when the thought of walking down a street was a nightmare. Brian had been relieved to find no trace of that fear in Justin since his return, but had also wondered what that meant. It was almost a relief to have Justin shaking in his arms; in the same way it had been a relief to hold Justin at Gus’s birthday party. Sickening and terrifying though it was, there was a sense of relief that something that had been slowly choking them both was out in the open and acknowledged. 

The transition was slow, but Brian knew to trust Justin. Once Justin regained his breath, there was a moment of stillness before Brian could feel the light kisses his lover was dropping against his throat. The hands that a moment before had been clinging to his shirt were now slipping the buttons free and sneaking inside. Thoughts were flying through his head, the memory of Ethan’s video and how Justin had seemed completely lost, so disoriented that he barely knew what was happening. If the entire experience was going to be put behind them, then first, Brian had to exorcise Ethan from their immediate memory.

Cupping the back of Justin’s neck to keep his attentions focussed on that one spot, Brian manoeuvred them backward, to the bed and toppled them onto it. They’re explorations were barely interrupted. Justin arched his hips to slip his pants down and Brian finished pulling his shirt off, and they were naked together, exactly as it should be. Justin rarely begged, but tonight he did so. Softly, a quiet whisper against Brian’s heated skin, and Brian kept the smaller body covered with his own, coming between Justin and the memories, as he rolled the condom on and pushed forward.

“Brian,” Justin said with a strange relief in his voice, and then their mouthes connected once more and there was only that kiss and their bodies moving in tandem towards one goal – not so much physical release as it was about release from the grip of dark memories and desperate thoughts.

Justin’s nails slipped down Brian’s back and Brian jerked his hips forward harder, broke the kiss to bite Justin’s earlobe and catch his breath, anything to keep himself from going over the edge too quickly. Justin came alive beneath him, his body working with Brian’s, drifting into the pleasure of it. They gasps into each other’s open mouthes, hands gripping hair and arms, and Justin’s legs a strong cage around Brian’s body. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else would come between them again.

……………………..

Justin awoke in a tangle of blankets and the first thing that went through his mind involved acrylic and a paintbrush. What followed was that he desperately needed to use the bathroom, and probably have a shower, as the smell of sweat and sex was heavy on his skin. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, however, Justin couldn’t help it anymore and his feet rebelled, until he was standing in front of his easel, his shirt and jeans unbuttoned, but no longer able to postpone the desperate need to manipulate a brush on canvas.

He selected a large canvas, and barely looked down at the colours he was mixing, driven by instinct and seized by inspiration. He could barely see what was he was making, but the image was in his head and he was in its grip. Justin surrendered completely, until the paint was on his fingers and his face, in his hair and on his chest. The entire world consisted of nothing save that canvas.

……………………

Brian spent his lunch break fending-off Debbie and wondering what he should do to fix things. He suffered from no delusions. There was no way one outburst and a hot fuck could heal whatever was troubling Justin. No matter how amazing the sex last night had been. Jennifer had idly been wondering about therapy, and Brian was dreading the moment when she’d bring that up with Justin. Justin did not have much respect for doctors, and had absolutely no respect for therapists.

His afternoon was taken-up with a meeting to establish the new campaign for Liberty Air, and then Ted had last-minute papers to sign. Brian drove home wondering what Justin he’d find, the blond’s mood-swings had been disorienting for the past few weeks, but Brian had been doing his best to ride them out. Though there were times when he was happy to have time to himself, and Babylon had continued to be a stabilizing place for him.

Climbing out of the elevator, however, Brian was grace with the faint booming sounds of music, which made him tense, afraid to hope. He opened the door and stepped in, and there was Justin, standing by his easel, half-dressed, covered in paint, his hair tufted-up with traces of blue and purple the result, undoubtedly, of the young man tugging on his hair and forgetting about the paint on his fingers. Justin’s hands were covered in colours and so was a canvas that sat on the easel.

The colours were vibrant and eye-catching. The details very fine. The painting was by no means complete, but Brian could see the intention – a single rose on one side healthy, on the other dry and sickly, floating, Dali-like, in a background of sky that mirrored the state of the flower. And all around, thriving fire and light. Justin wasn’t completely better, but it was a start.

Brian stepped onto the drop cloth that marked-off Justin’s studio, wrapping his arms around Justin’s body.

“Don’t,” Justin said. “You’ll get paint all-over yourself.” But he didn’t fight the embrace and Brian settled his chin on Justin’s shoulder.

“Not bad,” he said, peering at the painting up-close.

“It’s brilliant,” Justin grinned. Brian dropped a kiss to his lover’s temple and closed his eyes, holding his lover close.


End file.
